Warning - more bragging to follow

Both of my children showed once again how wonderfully perfect they are this week...Hillary was voted junior class president. And Parker was selected from the entire 7th grade to be a TA (helper) to the principal's secretary. She pulled him out of a computer class so he could be her TA.
These children must have an AWESOME mother.
Aren't you glad I don't send out Christmas letters! (ha)

Stretched

Our family is definitely in full swing SCHOOL mode. We're back to getting up before the sun, and hurrying and scurrying off to our various academic pursuits. While I'm getting to know my feisty first-graders, my husband is creating powerpoint presentations to teach geometry to high-schoolers. Hillary is bossing around the marching band. And Parker has started cross-country.

When we get home from a fun-filled day, tired and hungry, there is still dyslexia tutoring to attend to, homework to be done, flowers to be watered, dog-medicine to be given, laundry to be put away...you get the idea. And did I mention that Hillary is taking Spanish II by corespondence course on top of ALL her regular classes so she could take choir, band, drama, AND art?
I'd say we're all feeling a little stretched...


But no one more than Parker! After he complained for the 15th time this evening that his butt hurt, his legs hurt, his calves hurt...basically everything from the waist down, Hillary (the veteren runner) gave him some sisterly advice. "You gotta stretch it out or run it out."

And she proceeded to show him exactly what that meant.

And even though stretching sometimes hurts, it can be good for you.

I'll have to remember that.

But first I have to look up the Beatles' names for Parker's research report...and make playdough for tomorrow....s-t-r-e-t-c-h!

Mothering

My women's bible study this week talked about how all women were created to mother...whether or not you ever give birth to a child. Women mother our friends and our siblings, our co-workers and our husbands (unfortunately! ha). And we mother other people's children. This got me thinking about some of the women in my life who mothered me, even though their own children were grown and gone, and my own mother was doing a fine job. Still these women took time to touch my life.
There was Gracie Farris, who gave me recipes to put into my recipe box for a girl's club project. Her Fresh Apple Pie is still the best thing I've ever tasted. She was small and old and bent with white curly hair, and she made me feel tall. She bought me my first training bra. She brought it to me one day, out of the blue, all wrapped up in pretty paper. I can't imagine what she was thinking (as I have never been "blessed" in that department), but I felt SO grown up.
And there was Mildred Laws, who often babysat my sister and I when our parents had to go out of town overnight. She would come stay at our house, and we would all pile into mom and dad's bed. She was large and soft, with wrinkled papery skin, and a magical ability to wake up at whatever time she thought about before she went to sleep. We would make her wake us up at 4:00am, just because we thought it was so neat that she didn't need an alarm clock. And we would be ready for school so early that we'd have to walk around the block a couple of times. Now that I'm grown up, I realize that she had some hard knocks in her life...but she always seemed at peace to me. She was never in a hurry.
Both of these women are in heaven now. And I don't know if they ever knew how much they impacted my life. I just hope there are little girls and little boys around here who will someday grow up and think fondly of me.
Who are you mothering?
And who mothered you?

First Day

So here we are...the first day of school has come and gone.

My husband's hurry to get out the door did not prevent me from immortalizing the moment with my camera. You can't tell it from this picture, but he was grumbling "I don't see you posing for first day pictures." Well, I might if he had the camera in his hand.

First day - first hour outfit (suitable for practicing with marching band)

First day - 2nd thru 7th hour outfit (suitable for impressing friends and turning heads...even if you do have trouble walking in those shoes).

First day I'm-wearing-this-because-it's-comfortable outfit (suitable for being oneself in).

In other news...the start of a new year means meeting with new teachers to try to explain Parker's dyslexia and classroom accomodations. The teachers all seem very nice, but I'm always nervous...trying to convince them of what a wonderful kid he is and making sure he gets what he needs to succeed while at the same time not coming across as one of those parents who is high-maintenance and overly involved. I wish I knew the magic words to say. I wish there was no need for magic words. I wish I could keep him safe.

But it's not my job to make his path smooth and straight. It's my job to make sure he has good shoes and a walking stick...and to cheer him on as he climbs the path himself. He is smart. He is strong. He is capable. He is funny.

And I am proud.

One Woman

My grandma passed away recently. She was 80 years old. She lived a long, full life and died peacefully with a smile on her face and surrounded by her grown children, who are living their own long full lives.
As hard as it is to say goodbye, her death brought the whole family together in the same place at the same time. What a jumble of ages, stages, personalities, and hairstyles! We hugged, we caught up, we laughed and cried....and we made people pose for pictures!

She had seven children...

Twenty-five grandchildren...

And twenty-nine great-grandchildren.

Don't even get me started on the "extras" (spouses, etc)

You don't live for 80 years and produce that many offspring without leaving a lasting impact. She was just one woman from a little town in Arkansas...but I think she changed the world.

A cup of fun

It's about that time again...time for school to start.
So I took Hillary and two of her friends into the city to coordinate "first day outfits". We were chauffeured by Mr. Silent Reflective Sunglasses. (He told me later "Do you know that in the span of 11 miles they said the word "like" 40 times? I counted." What can I say, he's a math teacher.) Anyway...we ate, we laughed, we shopped.
At the first stop, my husband lost himself in Best Buy while we girls went into Gordmans. I followed them around, offering to hold their selections while they picked outrageous things off the clearance racks for each other to try on. They all came out of their respective dressing rooms complimenting each other on how "awesome" the other looked, while at the same time, downplaying the "awesomeness" of their own ensemble. But this was our first store, and no self-respecting girl spends her money at the first store. So it was on to the mall.
By this time, they didn't really need me anymore. Hence the reason The Man was allowed to come...to keep me company while the girls did their own thing. He and I sat in the food court, munched on a pretzel, and talked about everything from our bible study the night before to the crazy outfit the girl across the way had on.
Finally, my phone rang. "Mom, I think we're ready for you...you know...that one thing..."
That "thing" was bra shopping. One of the girls is being raised by a single dad. He's a great guy and does his best, but she was outgrowing her "innerwear" and I don't think either of them felt comfortable doing anything about it. So I volunteered. It was the unspoken mission of this shopping trip.
I sent my husband to the huge, two-story sporting goods store and met the girls at Victoria's Secret. They all stood around awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, sipping their fast food sodas and not really meeting each other's eyes. I grabbed the nearest sales lady and said, "We need some help with fitting." "Sure, follow me right this way.." We trailed her like ducklings to the fitting rooms where she turned around, tape in hand, and said, "OK..who's first?" Again, no eye contact. So I jumped in.."Me!" She measured quickly and gave my size out loud. When the girls saw how painless it was (and that I was the smallest one of them all, and I was okay with that) they all got right into the fun. Each girl was given a dressing room and several bras to try on. They came out talking about how this one was comfortable and that one was too lacy. I gave them all the tips I knew about making sure the cup fit right and the back strap should be parallel to the floor - not pulling upward. I explained that a nude color bra doesn't show through a white shirt even though it seems like a white bra would be the thing to wear. And shared the secret of a well placed puff of stuff sewn into the cup, making the most of what you have (or don't have!). In the end, we didn't buy anything. The prices were prohibitive (although it took all my impulse control not to put the $48 bra on my credit card for the girl who wasn't even my daughter). But the goal had been reached. The taboo was broken...the secret woman wisdom shared. The girls now had the tools they needed to shop on their own or with their credit-card-carrying parent.
We left the mall with three happy teenage girls in three new first-day outfits (and an unhappy man with empty golf club-less hands...but that's another story.) And a substitute mom with her cup running over with joy.

Keys to the heart

Right now there is beautiful music floating through my house. It's not a cd, and the radio isn't on. It's piano music flowing from the long slender fingers of my daughter. And I love it!

When she was four, she started saying things like, "I wish I knew how to play the piano." Of course, I ignored her for a while...four year olds often change their whims without any notice. But when she didn't stop talking about it, I looked into lessons. I found a lady in town who gave lessons in her basement full of pianos. I said, "She's only four, is that ok?" The teacher said, "Well, she'll have to know her letters." Indignant, I replied, "Of course she knows her letters..and can count to 100.." I could go on, but it would be embarrassing. Anyway, Mrs. Presson took her on...and it began.

For a long time, Hillary practiced on the one-octave electric keyboard we could afford. In those days, there wasn't room in our tiny house for winter and summer clothes at the same time...let alone a piano. But a few years and a couple of moves later, we realized a real piano was necessary. Hillary was playing real songs...beautiful and complicated songs...songs that were too much for a keyboard. So my mother-in-law found an old but free upright piano...and my mom took it apart (literally - laid the keys out on the floor) and vacuumed out the baby powder someone had spilled into it. Then my dad stripped the ugly antique green paint from the wood and stained it. And when their work of love was finished we had a beautiful instrument that we cherish to this day. While our parents' love made the outside shine...Hillary's fingers made it's heart sing.

When we moved here, her lessons stopped. She was so sad to say goodbye to her teacher, who had always encouraged her and pushed her and made opportunities for her to play for others. I was afraid she would stop playing and be one of those grown-ups who say, "I took lessons for years, but I can't play anything now." I prayed God would use her talent and not let it be lost.

After lots of trying Sundays in our new town, we finally found a church we liked with a thriving youth group and a youth pastor who used God's eye to find talents in his young people. He asked Hillary to help with the worship team. She was hesitant at first. But she tried. Mrs. Presson had taught her how to read music, and now God was teaching her to expand into playing by ear and following a vocalist. The wish that had started at four years old was now coming full circle at fourteen.

Hillary is now an accomplished pianist who can play by note or by ear. But more than that, she is using her talent to minister to others...and to herself. Making music is not just an ability for her. It's a part of her soul. When she's bored, lonely, happy, or sad...she'll often wander to that antique piano and let her emotions float into song. And as usual, God's gift to her spills over onto the rest of us, as the haunting notes fill our home and our hearts soar with her fingers.

In an interesting, look-how-God-works way, the student has now become the teacher. Hillary is giving piano lessons to a young boy in our church. She is patient and encouraging. Mrs. Presson would be so proud. After all, she unlocked Hillary's talent, and gave her the keys to her own heart.